“Steady on!” he cried. “She thinks that Missy is trying to turn me into a punk or a Goth. I just want him, and no one else will do. “Who on earth did you study violin with?” Michelle jumped in. Beauty has bloomed and faded. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone.
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